One of the best terms in my college years is the last term before my graduation. Why not, when all I did was read! I only had four classes, and although I always had the option to cut them on lazy days, more often I opted not to, because I enjoyed all minus one of my subjects. Add to that the thought that my school days are numbered. When again will I be sitting in a room of 30 people, listening to professors talk about murder fiction, philosophy or the great works of writers?
Those were the months I intentionally read my crime fiction readings at night, alone in my dimmed room to intensify my experience of the stories and yes, it did give me chills. That was the only term my thoughts about life were almost answered, especially when I decided to write down my favorite ideas from different existentialist thinkers to remind myself how I choose to see life. It’s also the term when I learned a few other things that popped into my stream of consciousness, a series of notes-to-self, some of which I wish I realized earlier: do not plan out your life too much; spend more; relish solitude; and continue making animal sounds, because apparently I’m not the only legal adult who has the urge to blurt out a moo or an arf.